


Lonely

by jellyfishline



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean is a baby, Gen, Mary POV, Pre-Series, not as fluffy as I wanted it to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 19:57:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2480525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellyfishline/pseuds/jellyfishline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, it feels like she and Dean are the only two people left in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lonely

It’s a nice day. Sunny, but the wind’s keeping the worst of the heat off their necks. It’s a good thing, too, because Dean’s far too squirmy to wear a hat.

“Red!” he says, reaching for the fat, juicy raspberries hanging from the vine.

“Oh, that’s a new word,” Mary murmurs, scooping him back into her lap. He scowls and almost falls out of her arms, determined to get to those berries.

“Want!”

“I know, sweetie,” she says. “But you don’t wanna play with those brambles. They’re sharp.”

She tries to distract him with the mud shapes they’d been making, but now he’s got that berry in his sights, he just can’t let it go.

“ _Want,_ ” he says, all quivery and frustrated.

Mary smiles. “Okay, Dean bean. Just give me a minute.”

She knows the other young mothers in town, rare as she sees them, make fun of the way she talks to Dean—tells him about her day, uses words he can’t possibly understand, just chatters and chatters away to her son. But she doesn’t mind. Let them say what they say. They don’t live in this house with its empty rooms and wide windows and tangled half-baked garden. They don’t have a husband who’s more often gone even when he’s home, no family left to turn to, and all old bridges burned.

Sometimes, it feels like she and Dean are the only two people left in the world.

Dean crushes the berry in his new baby teeth. Juice leaks from his lips and trickles down his chin. His nose wrinkles and he coughs.

“Still too sour?” Mary asks.

Mary knew that motherhood, in a lot of ways, would come with sacrifices. She didn’t realize they would be so many, or that she would have to face them so alone.

Still, she thinks, as Dean lays his head against her shoulder and drooling a wet spot on her blouse, if she had the chance to make the choice again, she wouldn’t change a thing.

She may be alone, but she isn’t, in fact, lonely.


End file.
